


bacchus

by quassia



Category: DDT Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hair-pulling, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Power Play, Rough Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 18:34:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17986454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quassia/pseuds/quassia
Summary: Masa's first time having sex with Sasaki is what he calls a drunken mistake. And he'd rather not talk about the times following that one.





	1. fifty shades of alcoholism

**Author's Note:**

> i love ddt and i love me some masa&daisuke
> 
> i recommend their match from damnation day 2017... there's tricycles and a lot of alcohol involved

Everything always seems so much better after a drink. Everything and every _one_. Masa can actually look at Daisuke Sasaki and feel something besides the urge to throw him into a lake or tear his hair out by the roots or mock him for his repeated attempted and spectacularly failed romances.

Mind you, Masa still thinks that he’s a fucking idiot but he seems like a more… _benign_ fucking idiot. His face doesn’t seem so hittable and his body not something that Masa _minds_ gazing at in a booze haze. Actually, in a haze, it’s looking pretty good, shiny with sweat and flushed red in the face and across his chest. Drunken Masa acknowledges that Sasaki isn’t bad looking, he’s good looking and his hair is always enviably perfect. Almost as good as Masa’s.

Sober Masa would rather not be sitting next to Sasaki in close quarters on a bench given their long and fraught history but drunk Masa doesn’t mind that their sweaty shoulders keep sticking together or that he can smell him with every inhale. He doesn’t even mind that it’s too hot to be sitting together and one or another of the staff has gone to get a chair but Masa’s thinking about how he doesn’t really care if they come back with one, he’s good right here.

He’s not going to do something cutesy like lay his head sideways on Sasaki’s shoulder, that’s not where his emotional state is at. He thinks he might barf if he shifted positions. The only movements he makes are the ones to tip up his bottle of water, taking feeble swallows. He can’t wait to strip and get into the shower and actually wants to attempt getting there now but… no, he’s exhausted and vaguely ill. He might die if he moves. And this is from him, who enjoys drinking.

Sasaki’s chin is hanging down when Masa glances over at him, his forehead pressed to the bottle of water he grips in one hand. Masa can’t make out his face or his eyes with all of his hair in the way so he reaches out his hand without thinking.

He grips a handful of Sasaki’s hair and pulls it out of the way. Sasaki’s eye is barely open but his eyelids twitch to reveal more of it, squinting at Masa with glazed, muted surprise. Once he’s got the long strands hair tucked behind Sasaki’s ears he twiddles his fingers in a cheerful, cheeky wave and takes another ginger sip of water.

Sasaki looks like he’s been punched in the throat, his eyebrows furrowed incredulously and lips ajar and Masa laughs at his expression.

“What,” he slurs, “it’s not like I hit you. What’s with that look? I wanted to see if you were still conscious.”

“Nothing,” Sasaki mutters, his voice trailing off.

Amused, Masa looks away and glances around the immediate area instead.

The staff settled them into a relatively quiet area backstage with little traffic and he thinks, with as much amusement because everything is hilarious right now, that they’ve probably been forgotten. There’s music outside somewhere and he thinks that he can hear bellows of laughter and man, that sounds fun and he wonders if Kudo and Sakaguchi are looking for him or if they’re helping themselves to booze and it doesn’t _really_ matter if they show up or not.

Something tugs at his hair and Masa looks over. Sasaki’s squinting at him like he’s having difficulty getting Masa into focus, as though shifting his hair will help him in that… Not likely.

“What, Sasaki?” Masa decides to ask instead of pulling Sasaki’s hair out by the roots. Sasaki doesn’t let go and in fact twirls a piece of Masa’s hair around his forefinger with a look of intense concentration, mouth slightly open like there’s something hypnotic about it.

“Let’s have sex, Masa,” Sasaki says and Masa almost barfs _as well_ as spits up blood.

“You wanna die, motherfucker?” he asks in turn, casual and easygoing.

“No,” Sasaki mumbles in English, as though confused why Masa answered a question with a question, “I want to have sex.”

“I’d rather die.”

Sasaki _pulls_ his hair then and shoves him, such that Masa has to catch himself quickly with one hand to avoid crashing to the floor. The world lurches alarmingly. “Fine!” Sasaki spits out loudly, “Not like I wanted to have sex with you anyway! Shitty bastard!”

Absolutely fucking ridiculous. Masa thinks that the situation is hilarious and laughs loudly, pointing at him, desperate for someone, anyone, to come along and see how stupid Daisuke Sasaki is. How stupid he looks, eyes wide and face twisted in an upset snarl just a dial below his usual upset capabilities.

“Stop laughing at me, I’m gonna fucking kill you, Masa—”

“I’ll fuck you, if you want.”

Sasaki freezes solid, his squinting gaze opening, pop-eyed now. His hands, mid-reach to Masa, stay hovering in mid-air, fingers uncurling from fists. His upset, furious look disappears altogether.

“Wha,” he says, uncomprehending.

“I’ll fuck you,” Masa repeats. “Maybe. Depends. If you’re going to be annoying I won’t...but maybe if you’re less annoying I’ll fuck you now.”

Sasaki’s already got his fingers hooked in the waistband of the shorts he’s wearing, having tuned out Masa’s caveat.

Masa gazes at him impassively, lips compressing.

He’s got a hard-on and Masa has _only_ just agreed; he’s so quick on the draw that Masa is legitimately disgusted and contemplates leaving right then and there. But at the same time he wants to fuck Sasaki and he doesn’t feel like acknowledging that particular desire. He makes an excuse that all he wants right now is sex and Sasaki just happens to be very present and very convenient.

Thus, this works out.

Staring at Sasaki halfway to lowering his shorts on the bench Masa remembers anyone could walk by and find him having sex with Charisma and draws umbrage with that. He doesn’t want for anyone to ever think he’s forgiven Sasaki for what he’s done or that he feels anything but dislike when he looks at him… though in his drunken heart he remembers enjoyable times and having legitimate fun with Sasaki.

Thinking about his ass and the gap of his shorts and a glimpse he got in-match too helps him decide on what he’s going to do with Daisuke Sasaki.

He grabs Sasaki by the hair and gets “ow ow ow ow _Masa_ ow” as he tows him off to the nearest door.

Peering into it, he scrunches his nose at the cornucopia of fucking nothing inside and the generous layer of dust before shrugging and shoving Sasaki in.

“We’ll do this here,” Masa decides, swaying in the doorway before shutting the door. He pulls at the waistband of his pants, peeling them from his sweaty skin. He’s kicking them off of his feet, in all of his naked glory before he thinks to see what Sasaki is doing. He gets a solid eyeful as Sasaki’s sitting on the floor, dick in hand and shorts shoved down around his ankles, frantically jerking himself off.

Sasaki licks his lips as he looks him up and down, sweaty and half curled over, probably as near to losing balance and passing out as Masa is.

“Do you want me to fuck you or not?” He lurches, unbalanced, as he approaches Sasaki. He looks good on his knees, better on his knees than anywhere else Masa has seen him in a long time. “‘Cause if you can just jerk yourself off, there’s no point of me being here, right. I’ll just go somewhere else and deal with this.”

He shakes his dick a little at the base with one hand, embarrassingly hard and not at the thought of fucking Sasaki in a dirty storage closet, fuck no.

Sasaki gives his dick the most flattering look it’s ever gotten so Masa lifts his foot and kicks Sasaki down on the floor as thanks. He curses as he hits his head, squints and clutches his stomach before whatever dizziness Masa caused eases. Masa looks down at him, very satisfied with himself and twirling his finger in the air. “Over on your hands and knees.”

“No,” Sasaki complains, “No way—”

“Hands and knees. Let’s go, Sasaki.”

Just to make him more amenable to it, Masa presses his foot against Sasaki’s chest again. Not to kick him this time, but to slide his foot down his front, down his stomach, until he pushes it up along his dick, rubbing the heel of his foot into his balls. He thought he wouldn’t have the balance to do it but it turns out better than he expects. He braces himself with one hand out to the side on the wall and Sasaki groans and squirms around, arching his hips, leaking over himself. As though he weren’t already a fucking mess, just _look_.

Masa’s more turned on by _that_ than he’ll admit, Charisma squirming around on the floor, humping his foot and heedless how much of a sloppy, desperate man he looks.

“Hands and knees,” he prompts again.

This time Sasaki’s willing to obey, though he looks doubtfully over his shoulder at Masa once he settles in position. Masa’s eyeing his ass, reaching out his hand. He hasn’t really touched him with his hands until this point and his skin is too-hot and sticky with sweat still. But it’s not bad and he squeezes Sasaki’s ass with both hands before spreading his cheeks.

“Hey,” he hears in a glazed mutter as he’s squeezing and massaging his ass, “Masa, hey, aren’t you going to touch me more than just there? Come on. Touch me more.”

“Why should I?” Masa slides his hand underneath Sasaki’s stomach, humming as he finds his cock. He doesn’t jerk him off, his fingers just collect his dripping precome since they don’t have anything else since Masa doesn’t go into wrestling matches with Sasaki thinking he’s going to have sex with him after. Doesn’t stop Sasaki from arching into his hand, grabbing his wrist and steering Masa’s hand to press against him. He furrows his brow and stares down at Sasaki’s heaving back as his hand is used to rub against.

He squeezes _hard_ , hard enough he’d think it’d hurt but Sasaki babbles thoughtless _yes, yes, yes_ and Masa sighs.

“Come on, _baby_ ,” he says, adopting Sasaki’s favourite English term of endearment, “if you want me to fuck you, you better let go now or I’m done.”

To Sasaki’s credit, he’s pretty eager to listen with sex on the line. Masa would’ve considered using it as bait long before now but sober Masa knows better than that. Drunken Masa reconsiders it and places it up there in the top three of the list of how to get control of Sasaki if he _really_ has to.

He’s a little perturbed with how easily his come-slick finger sinks in and he looks at Sasaki’s hanging head as he works it in. Sasaki’s just groaning and moving his body, rocking back and forth and driving himself on Masa’s finger, _fingers_ as he takes two, then three without an indication that it’s hard on him. Masa murmurs “huh” under his breath and slaps Sasaki’s ass with his free hand, a resounding crack that echoes in the room and would definitely tip off anyone outside to their presence.

Louder than the crack of flesh on flesh is Sasaki’s voice, a sharp groan and his fist slamming down on the floor. “Fuck me,” he demands in English, slams his fist down again like a child throwing a tantrum, “fuck me, fuck me Masa, fuck me!”

He only learns the most important phrases in a foreign language, Masa thinks with humour. He separates his hand from Sasaki’s ass to palm his hair out of his face. There’s a bright red mark on it his ass, vaguely hand-shaped, and once his hair is out of the way he grips at it, sinks in his nails and scrapes angry red lines that won’t be as quick to fade. Sasaki groans, growls in his low voice and Masa thinks he would’ve reached back by now to hurry the process if his hands weren’t the only things keeping him held up.

His arms are shaking hard, his knees trembling.

Masa doesn’t know if it’s because they’ve both had enough alcohol for their entire respective stables to be drunk off their heads or because he’s just that overcome. It doesn’t matter so long as he doesn’t pass out, Masa decides, guiding his cock against Sasaki’s ass. Sasaki groans again, another litany of _fuck me_ s and this guy hasn’t gotten laid in a long fucking time, has he?

He’s thinking that as he pushes in, his head hanging and his hair slides between Sasaki’s shoulders, sticking onto his sweaty, flexing back. He grips with one hand at Sasaki’s thigh and kneads the meat of it hard, feels when Sasaki abruptly _jerks_.

“Masa, Masa—”

It’s really flattering to have someone come as soon as you push just a little bit inside, Masa thinks, moving his hand to tug at Sasaki’s dripping dick. Sasaki squirms and works his hips like he’s trying to pull away but pressing closer at the same time, starved for contact and pleasure. He doesn’t say _no_ when Masa keeps moving, his hips slapping against Sasaki’s ass. Usually, you’d stop, give your partner time to adjust but Masa thinks that Sasaki can handle it or maybe he doesn’t care? His head is swimming and it really feels fucking good and when he slaps Sasaki’s ass he tightens up and groans and curses and Masa could get used to _that_.

Not used to it. No getting used to it, sobriety tries to break through to him but Masa waves it away absently.

He grips Sasaki’s hips with both hands and straightens up. The floor is cold against his knees and his body kind of aches and swims at once, his eyes hot and dry. The world’s a funny blur but he sure as fuck feels good and he feels fonder and fonder of Sasaki’s voice, the way he gasps and mumbles, “yes, baby, yes baby more, Masa more,” without ever forgetting who he’s getting fucked by and not replacing Masa in his imagination with someone else.

Well, Masa thinks as he scrapes ugly red lines down the unblemished side of Sasaki’s ass, awful hard to do a mix-up with what he’s doing to him.

“Sasaki,” he hums, eyelids fluttering. The world’s a bit too much to look at so he closes his eyes, slides his hand up the length of Sasaki’s back until he grabs a handful of his hair. He tugs at it hard and Sasaki _clenches_ around him, squeezing him so tight that it _nearly_ fucking hurts and Masa stops entirely. His lips fall apart and he moans, tugging Sasaki’s hair and hearing only the slightest whine of pain and protest. Isn’t it funny that that sound sticks in his brain as he comes?

He’s sure he’s forgotten something important and you probably don’t just fuck someone you’ve been feuding with for as long as you’ve been wrestling without condoms at hand but fuck, fuck, fuck it’s good, Masa wants to do this again and again.

He pulls his hair again as he rides it out, only vaguely aware of Sasaki rolling his body, chasing some pleasure, some friction against him. He stops soon enough and Masa blinks his eyes open, staring dizzily up at the ceiling as he loosens his grip on dark hair.

There’s one clinging to his fingers when he pulls back his hand, one that he actually managed to yank out. He slumps over Sasaki’s back gradually, as if in slow motion, pressing his nose into one of his shoulders as Sasaki groans what sounds like a happy sound and dislodges one of his hands from the floor to reach up toward Masa’s head.

Which is a mistake, of course.

He collapses and Masa goes down with him. Now, Masa doesn’t mind since he’s not hitting the floor but it’s still enough of a surprise, a tug at his dick still buried to the hilt inside Sasaki, and he startles from post-sex bliss with a grunt. He’s sprawled over his back, his hands braced on Sasaki’s shoulders and Sasaki has his face pressed less comfortably into the floor, one eye barely visible through his mussed hair looking up at Masa.

Masa blinks… and then reaches to pat his face. “There you go, baby,” he says with a tinge of sarcasm. “Feel good?”

“Yeah,” Sasaki says dreamily, not picking up on his scorn at all.

Well, that’s not a surprise.

Slowly, Masa eases himself back, pulling himself out of Sasaki and wondering what he should do with him now. No—that’s not his problem, he gave Sasaki what he wanted. He cleans himself off sneakily with Sasaki’s shorts and bows over his prone body. Lifting Sasaki’s hair off of his face and seeing closed eyes, he thinks he’s actually managed to knock Sasaki out but Sasaki hums indistinctly with happiness and contentment and leans toward his fingers so evidently there’s still consciousness left.

Feeling generous, content and drunkenly affectionate, Masa presses a kiss to Sasaki’s damp temple and stands up. He collects his clothes and pulls them back on.

He even, in this moment of weakness, thinks about staying and watching over him or helping him tidy up. But, after another look at Sasaki he decides _nah_ and grins to himself at the thought of him fumbling himself together later.

Or, worse than that! The other members of Damnation finding him in this state. Poor Sasaki.

Swaying the whole way, Masa opens up the door and says very kindly over one shoulder, “Later, Sasaki,” before staggering outside.

  


Three days later and after countless fucking annoying texts from Sasaki, Masa goes to the store and gets his phone number changed.


	2. fifty shades of i just want to work out

The second time, to Masa’s great regret, he doesn’t have the excuse of alcohol.

There are a lot of things that are acceptable to chalk up to alcohol. Making a mistake and sleeping with a once-comrade in arms is acceptable to blame on alcohol and pretend like it never happened or that you’ve completely forgotten about it. Which is what Masa has been doing his best to do, up to and pretending Sasaki doesn’t exist at all which is his go-to anyway. His world is far happier when Sasaki isn’t even a blip on his radar, a cloud in his otherwise blue sky.

The second time that he gives in, his only excuse that he can blame is Sasaki’s hand massaging at his crotch and his mouth making messy, wet kisses into his throat. He keeps murmuring vague things, low “come on, Masa, let’s do it”. Being molested by Sasaki is hardly an excuse that will hold up in court for the inexcusable crime of actually putting his dick in Sasaki, never mind to his companions who will never understand. Which Masa agrees with: he doesn’t understand either.

His dick is very eager to remember, though, fuck understanding. Who needs understanding when you have someone willing to rub up against you outside?

Sasaki’s happy to grind their hips together in the small alley just behind Masa’s usual gym, his hands framing him to either side as Masa gazes blankly up at the sky over his head. He blames Charisma’s, well, charisma for the fact that he lets himself grab handfuls of his ass and dig in his fingers when Sasaki growls encouragement.

Reason almost comes back when Sasaki says, “Let me do you today, Masa.”

He replies with a flat, “No,” and gets ready to leave, reason returned, but Sasaki panics and grabs at him.

“Joke! I was just joking. You’re supposed to laugh, Masa.” Sasaki laughs himself, unconvincingly, but he’s massaging Masa’s junk again before Masa can break free and the fact that he has a stranglehold on his dick is a good deterrent from walking off. He doesn’t need any genital-related injury, he reasons, so he may as well let Sasaki touch him, it’s just a practical decision to make and not at all motivated by the fact that he kind of really likes fucking him and being touched by him.

The decision to blow him in the alley is practical too, of course, it’s just bait he’s waggling in front of Sasaki to get Sasaki to do as he says. He doesn’t let Sasaki loom over him either way, he topples him onto his back onto the ground and makes him spread his legs open wide. No matter what happens, Masa’s in control and that makes this a little more okay. It’s just a sex thing, a power thing, he’s exerting his strength over Sasaki.

So what if he likes watching his face contort with pleasure, watch the way he throws his head back and clenches his jaw tightly, his breaths puffing loudly through his nose. Or maybe he likes the pained whimper that leaks out through his compressed lips when he scrapes his teeth under the head of his dick, it’s just a power thing, a normal reaction for a man… at least when dealing with one they kind of generally don’t like.

Masa, uncomfortable with his grey thoughts on Sasaki, focuses on fucking him.

He’s not prepared the second time any more than the first but Sasaki is, pressing lube into his hand with several encouraging nods and, to Masa’s annoyance, a proud smile on his face. As revenge, he doesn’t fuck him like he asks for and expects. He works up to four of his fingers inside of Sasaki and lets him settle for that, listens to him beg over and over until he gets to a point he can actually vocalise, “Your cock, Masa! I need your dick, I need you to fuck me, it’s not enough, please, please, please.”

“The whole street’s going to hear you,” Masa says, while knowing no-one comes to the gym around this time except for him. And no-one’s going to go wandering in the back around where the dumpsters are, not close enough to find one of their regulars with his fingers buried inside a man slumped chest-first against the building wall.

“It’s fine,” Sasaki groans, “just as long as you do it, come on…”

_ That’s _ not a bad thing to hear. Masa has several conflicting feelings on the matter, because he sure as fuck doesn’t want anyone finding him fucking Daisuke Sasaki but it’s good to know he’s so horny and desperate for Masa he just doesn’t care about anything else.

Masa makes him lean over, hands braced on the wall and makes him spread his legs wide. He contemplated hands-and-knees, but Sasaki’s against the wall anyway and it’s a nice sight seeing him stick out his ass. Before he does what he wants, he slaps it, sharp snaps of his palm against Sasaki’s ass. He hears through a haze of arousal Sasaki’s voice, low moaned litanies of encouragements and begging for more.

About then he remembers the fact that this is a bad fucking idea.

Still, he flattens his palm against the back of Sasaki’s head, presses his cheek into the wall and slams his dick into him. He remembers a lot of bad things when he’s around Sasaki but they dim to hum that’s easier to deal with when he’s grinding Sasaki’s cheek against the wall and listening to him beg to be done, for  _ Masa _ to fuck his ass raw.

Evidently, he never needed to do anything besides have sex with Sasaki to triumph over him. Too bad he can’t win a belt that way.

When Sasaki’s getting closer, when he’s dripping come onto the ground under him and whimpering through his teeth, Masa leans over him. He slides a hand around and under Sasaki’s jaw, forcing his face up slightly and Masa catches a glimpse of one of his eyes, watching Masa—hungry, absorbed. He tests his teeth against his ear and asks him, “What do you think, Sasaki? You like being fucked by a weakling like me?”

Sasaki’s gaze changes a little, like something has broken through his haze of desperation. Maybe Masa can fuck the stupid out of him after all. “Masa—”

Masa tickles under his jaw and smiles as he presses his forefinger over the hair on Sasaki’s chin. His hips jerk and Sasaki’s gaze clouds over again and he wonders if he’s just fucking the stupid back  _ into _ him. “Hmm? Well?”

“Fuck me more, Masa,” Sasaki chokes out when Masa digs his fingers hard into his cheeks. “I love it, I want it, want you—”

Abruptly disgusted with himself and Sasaki both, Masa grips the back of his face and shoves his face back into the wall. He hears a scrape, a pained noise, and he fucks him with the ferocity to match, panting with his hair blinding his vision, shrouding his view of Sasaki. Sasaki’s incoherent again, groaning and jerking his hips, blindly seeking out more like the desperate man that he is and here Masa is obliging whatever stupid urge he’d had to chase after Masa like Masa had anything to give him beyond a fuck.

He leaves quickly after he’s gripped Sasaki’s dick hard, jerking him to completion after he striped Sasaki’s ass with his own come, a filthy mess dripping down the back of his thighs.

“Don’t bug me again, Sasaki,” Masa tells him in a friendly voice over his shoulder as he departs, quickly lest he have to deal with anything more

That’s it, two and he’s done, he tells himself very firmly. No more. The first time was a mistake, the second a catastrophe and he won’t be so much of an idiot to do it a third fucking time.


	3. fifty shades of i think i fucked up

Sasaki deals with rejection as Masa expects and as well as he’s ever dealt with it.

He seems to be confused by the fact that Masa fucked him right before he told him not to bug him again. So, while he leaves him angry messages (taped to doors) and tries his best to shout at him across parking lots since Masa is in full Avoidance mode, he still at one point sends a crappily arranged bouquet of flowers. Masa stares at them, dead-eyed, before dumping them into the trash.

(And then fishing them out later to give to a neighbour because it’s not the fault of the flowers.)

The problem is Sasaki, really. The problem has always been Sasaki, who thinks it’s fine to betray and then pose they form a team again when he knows, he should _know_ how stupid that is but no. Sasaki’s an idiot and no amount of waiting or watching will change that and neither will Masa go out of his way to try to change it. He has better things to do than to waste time on an idiot and he doesn’t trust Sasaki anyway, he can no longer trust him. That capability was long since destroyed.

_Can’t trust him, but can still have sex with him._

No wonder Sasaki’s confused by him because Masa’s just as confused by himself.

If it was just the sex maybe he could be fine with it. But he doubts it will stay there for Sasaki who latches on and who he’s watched fall into this trap again and again despite his claims otherwise, claims that Damnation doesn’t _do_ the softer aspects of emotion.

Masa’s infuriated both by his own decision and his inability to be content with his own decision.

Everything’s more complicated when it’s more than sex and, with their history, it’s hard for it to be just about sex. Maybe if they were strangers, anonymous, had never met before and hadn’t been warring for years upon years and hadn’t had instances in their pasts to shape who they were today. Maybe if Masa was able to let go of the past and move on as Sasaki had so _clearly_ been able to do.

But. He didn’t regret holding on to those feelings.

(He regretted fucking him, though. That was a dumb idea, Drunk Masa.)

Masa, in a moment of brilliance, decides to go to a titty bar and just forget everything. Normally he might bring his boys but he decides to leave them behind and go alone. That way he can get ready to get his mack on with a lady proper and not be distracted by his companions, no big deal.

Problem number one: Daisuke Sasaki has the same fucking idea.

Problem number two: Daisuke Sasaki chooses the same bar as he does.

Problem number three: Daisuke Sasaki spots him across the room like there’s a beacon on Masa and his eyes laser focus on it from the moment Masa enters his line of sight.

Masa, being a person in possession of a rational brain and great experience with Sasaki, courteously pays his tab, blows a few kisses to the ladies who were so generous to give him their attention, and high-tails it out of there.

Because it’s Sasaki, he follows him while shouting, making a fuss and tackles him in the parking lot.

It’s a quick and dirty fight and there’s yelling on both sides. There’s a lot of Sasaki referring to him as a cheater when, as Masa very reasonably shouts into his face, they didn’t do anything more than have sex _two times_. There’s no language barrier between the two of them as opposed to Sasaki’s frequent crushes and there shouldn’t be as much time for him to concoct some ridiculous fantasy because of a language issue, and yet he’s got some ideas and words Masa never actually said in his head.

Sasaki claws at him, punches him, and Masa punches and kicks and claws back at him, leaving ugly scrapes on Sasaki’s face, rips in his nice titty bar-appropriate shirt. There was no relationship, had never been, had never been or would be a _romance_ and Sasaki’s routine of acting like a wronged lover pisses Masa off. He doesn’t feel slighted to have found Sasaki at the same place, had hoped Sasaki wouldn’t notice him but he knows all too well what he’s like.

Eventually, Masa knocks him over and scrambles to his feet. Panting, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and straightens, smoothing his hair back. Sasaki lays sprawled on the pavement and the small crowd watching with interest from the bar head back in now that the fight is over.

“Why do you have to be like this, Masa,” Sasaki complains at the night sky, squinting toward him. His stupid face pisses Masa off all over again.

“‘Cause you’re the way you are, Sasaki.” Masa smooths down his previously immaculate shirt with one hand, breathing out. His composure has yet to return and he knows the wisest choice is to retreat while the retreating is good yet he lingers, looking down at Sasaki, battered and sulking.

“All you have to do is be with me,” he grumbles.

“You know that’s not happening.”

“Why not?” Sasaki pushes himself up with his hands. He lays one over his heart in a dramatic fashion, yet so earnest and heartfelt Masa could punch him. “We feel good together, we’re _obviously_ connected.”

Masa exhales a disbelieving laugh, hand on his hips, head shaking. “I can’t trust you, Sasaki.”

Sasaki’s eyes narrow and he glares, in full upset mode. “I asked you to join me before and _you_ refused.”

“Couldn’t believe that, either. It’s not that easy.”

“Then just do it with me,” Sasaki insists as he gathers his legs under him. Masa’s about to knock them out from under him the second he’s on his feet. Especially given the way Sasaki says it, with his face twisting as though having to _settle_ causes him agony. “You don’t have to join up with me or make a team and—you can go to the bar without me, whatever the fuck you want.”

“No.”

Sasaki snarls. “ _Masa_.”

“You’re fine.” Masa waves his hand dismissively. “You’ve got—well, you don’t have her anymore… or her anymore either, come to think of it, but. I’m sure you can find someone else to fuck that’s not me. Eh, _baby_?”

Sasaki puts his hands in his hair and growls, deep and guttural. He grips at it like he wants to grab Masa’s instead and yank it but Masa keeps a distance between the two of them. “It’s not the same,” he asserts angrily. “It’s never been like it is with _you_.”

He says, as though he has the experience when Masa’s always watched (entertained) his many romantic failures and Sasaki’s subsequent turn from romance. He doubts that he got any further than holding Asuka’s hand. Still, he has to make a nod to the fact that Sasaki hasn’t lashed out at him yet to deny that he’s wanted to have sex with Masa and Masa in particular, for whatever reason.

Masa twirls some of his hair around his finger, tugging it idly. He’s aware Sasaki is watching him, impatiently combing his hair out of his face and it’s the most agitated that he’s seen Sasaki for quite a long time.

It’s piqued his curiosity. Mildly, but it has.

“You only want me because I made you feel good. If you picked up a male prostitute you’d feel the same way, you’d get obsessed with them just because it felt good while you had sex.” Masa cocks his chin up. “I know what you’re like, Sasaki.”

Sasaki clicks his tongue. “It wouldn’t be the same. No-one’d be the same as _you_. Even if you’re a shitty fucker.”

“Huhhhh,” Masa murmurs in disbelief. Sasaki contorts his face and then he approaches, spreading his hands apart in a placating or a pleading manner, Masa’s not certain which. He watches with caution, ready to leap right back in the fray if Sasaki tries something.

“It’s different when it’s you.” Sasaki reaches out further and he catches the front of Masa’s pants. Masa doesn’t believe him in the least, folding his arms over his chest as Sasaki finishes his approach, close enough to smell the waft of cologne (too strong) he probably thought was good for a night out. “It’s not going to feel like that if it’s some other bastard. Because it’s you, it feels as good as it does. You know where to touch me and when we’re done I can’t even think anymore. So… come on. Please?”

Masa gazes over the top of his head, thinking, Sasaki’s breath wafting just so under his chin. Reluctant as he is to admit it, the compatibility of their bodies is good and there’s that something that pisses him off about Sasaki as much as it pulls him in about him. He’s Charisma for a reason.

It’s going to be more than sex, he knows it is. So, then, does he just have to make it about sex in Sasaki’s head while he tries to figure out what the fuck is going on in his own head?

“Sex friends?” he offers.

Sasaki doesn’t look like he likes the offer or the term, which is reason enough for Masa to do it, to draw a clear line. He cocks his head, watching expectantly, watching Sasaki struggle against his desire to get his way versus to take whatever is given to him.

“Sex friends,” he mutters, assenting, then gives Masa a deep and significant look from under his brows. “Exclusive.”

Masa ponders. “Why?”

Sasaki just stares at him, mouth pointed stubbornly.

Masa’s lips twitch into a small smirk. “Desperate and jealous,” he says scornfully. “That’s what you are, Sasaki.”

“You could catch something and pass it on to me, dirty bastard. You’re such fucking trash,” Sasaki snaps, quick and defensive.

“Sure, sure.” Masa rolls his eyes. “I’m not making any promises, but exclusive unless someone else _really_ catches my eye.”

A brief silence passes between them, awkward and heavy and Masa wonders why he’s stupid enough to go along with this. So much for not fucking him a third time. Here’s his promise and resolution to keep on fucking him for who-knows-how-long.

“If I get sick of you, I’ll break it off,” Masa says.

Sasaki glares. “I’ll kill you.”

“Not if I do it first.”

There’s too much between the two of them, too much to simply say ‘oh, that’s all right then, bygones are bygones’, certainly too much for Masa who knows better. Still, he can’t quite break himself from Sasaki. Truly, he is magnetic. Masa has to acknowledge it even if he doesn’t respect it, or maybe the whole draw is Masa’s own obsession. He can’t triumph over Sasaki in the ring, he can’t seem to climb up so he has to win by dragging Sasaki down however he can. Seeing Sasaki under him soothes those bitter feelings that he’s lived with a damned fucking long time.

Maybe one day, after humiliating Sasaki enough, after enjoying bending Sasaki to his control and his whims, he’ll be able to let them go forever. Then, and only then, will he be able to move on in some fashion and remember the affectionate feelings he’d once held.

For now, he reaches out, grips Sasaki by the collar, and reels him in closer. He grips hard enough to hurt, hard enough for the collar of Sasaki’s nice shirt to bite into the skin of his neck. Sasaki looks at him narrowly, uncertainly, but with his eyebrows hiked up just so that indicates he’s hopeful that the proximity is going to lead to something favourable.

“Let’s go to a hotel.”

Sasaki jumps on it as fast as Masa expects him to.

* * *

Masa tells him, in no uncertain terms, that the hotel trip is on him. Sasaki, to his surprise, actually takes him to a decent love hotel and doesn’t attempt to wheedle money out of him (this time). He stops and starts inviting Masa back to his place several times but Masa tells him he’ll leave before he ever goes there so he quickly gives up.

This is going to make entry number three in Masa’s diary of ‘times I shouldn’t have fucked Daisuke Sasaki’ but he can’t quite care as much about it. He feels in an unusually good mood, like some odd weight has been lifted off of him. Maybe Sasaki can sense it too and that’s why he’s so fucking clingy on the way to the hotel, companionably hooking his arm around Masa’s shoulders, pressing their bodies close together.

No, perhaps it’s just that he’s an annoying person. But, for the most part, Masa lets him while copping a feel of his ass as they walk down the street.

He feels as though he’s drunk but one beer in a bar wouldn’t do this to him, so there goes that excuse. Masa tries not to think about feelings at all, settling instead on just focusing on the now. That seems easiest. Tomorrow’s problems are for the him of tomorrow and it seems ridiculous to think too much about it when they’ve made their ‘deal’.

‘Exclusive’, huh?

It ties in perfectly with the ‘Sasaki won’t be satisfied with just sex’ thought that he’d had. But Masa didn’t completely agree with it either and he really will murder Sasaki if he tries anything beyond sex friends.

Until he sorts it out for himself.

He doesn’t really feel bad about using or stringing Sasaki along. In Masa’s personal opinion, it’s mild compared to what he _should_ do to him.

And, he thinks as he forces Sasaki to go and shower the smell of titty bar off of him, Sasaki’s getting sex out of it so it’s more than he deserves.

Sasaki cracks the bathroom door to look out at him hopefully. “You should come in with me,” he says as Masa plops down on the hotel bed, folding his legs at the knee. “Come and wash my back and I’ll do yours.”

“I’m not dirty like you,” Masa retorts brightly.

Sasaki pouts, mutters something offensive about Masa but he disappears into the bathroom and Masa starts stripping out of his clothes. There’s some dirt and gravel in his hair from their tussle earlier and he brushes it out as he shrugs off his shirt, loosens his already-loose belt and pulls it off as well. He leaves them slung over the back of the chair in the room and sprawls on his back on the bed in his pants, stretching lazily as his fingers sort through his hair in idle motions.

He doesn’t let his mind wander, he concentrates on the bed and on closing his eyes, breaths deep and slow.

Sasaki finishes with his shower quickly and a waft of steam plumes into the room followed by the man himself. He hears him stop and opens one eye to look up at Sasaki looming over him at the side of the bed, his hands extended and his fingers flexing none-too-subtly in a gesture that says he’s super eager to get grabby.

“Masa,” he says, low voice full of emotion and expectation, “do I get to be on top today—”

“Nope.”

Sasaki’s nose wrinkles.

Masa smiles and lifts his legs in a slow, leisurely manner, grabbing Sasaki around the hips he’s got covered only by the shortest towel in existence. With a pull, Sasaki falls on his back on the bed with a soft curse and struggles to right himself when he’s still bouncing on the mattress.

It’s pretty different from a fuck in a back room or a fuck in a side-street, Masa thinks as he slides on top of Sasaki. He grinds his knee into his crotch through his towel and Sasaki barks a sound that’s more pain than pleasure but he soon collapses and stays still, hips shifting gingerly as though looking for the angle which Masa’s rough treatment will feel good.

When he finds it he goes boneless, arching his hips and groaning Masa’s name in low encouragement. He’s as hard as Masa expected, harder, his towel a paltry cover. But Masa takes his time, gripping onto the headboard with both hands as he works his knee firmly into Sasaki’s dick, a flare of arousal when Sasaki rolls his head from side to side like he’s overcome, his hands flexing before clamping onto Masa’s thigh and squeezing roughly.

All you have to do, Masa thinks, is give him a little nip of pleasure and he’s putty.

It’s not a bad feeling at all to have Sasaki sprawled under him, ends of his hair damp from his very quick shower, chest heaving as he times himself to thrust up every time.

“You couldn’t even dry yourself off?” Masa cuffs the side of his head. “You’re going to make this fucking bed soaked.”

Sasaki garbles out a “wanted to get into bed with you, baby” in-between brutal grinds of Masa’s knee and Masa curls his lip. He reaches down to the towel, whipping it off and making sure not to do it gently, either. When he starts groping at his dick and back toward Sasaki’s ass, he gets a confused glance from Sasaki himself and stops.

“What?”

“No, you don’t want me on my stomach?”

Masa thinks for a moment, looks at Sasaki from head to toe. Looks at his face, his hair, his chest, heaving stomach, his dick flush against his belly. The way his thighs have spread expectantly, so expectantly Masa could really just punch him in the dick and be good for the night as far as satisfaction is concerned but he still wants to fuck him.

“This is fine,” Masa decides at last. Sasaki brightens so Masa immediately adds, “You’re not hideous to look at, I’ll probably still be able to get off having to see your face.”

Sasaki immediately makes a face and snarls, “Fuck you.”

This is better, Masa thinks. Better Sasaki doesn’t get any romantic notions in his head. Chuckling a little and reaching under Sasaki, he squeezes his ass and digs his fingers in and stops abruptly. Slick. There’s something slick. Sasaki sure as fuck isn’t a woman, so there’s really only one conclusion.

“Were you playing with your ass in the shower?” Masa asks him conversationally. When Sasaki’s mouth falls open, an _oh shit_ look on his face, Masa screws in his index finger to the knuckle. Sasaki arches at once, groaning loudly, and it’s slick all inside too, the love hotel must have some lube in the bathroom just in case. “Disgusting. You couldn’t hold yourself in, huh?” But he really, really doesn’t fucking mind. Sasaki’s as loose as if someone just fucked him and Masa’s impressed that he could do that even when he was in there for so short of a time. He must’ve really went at it, or else he’s been doing it for nights on end.

“A favour, it’s… a favour,” Sasaki gasps out. “Should thank me... now you don’t have to do it.”

“You were in the shower thinking about being fucked and then you came out here asking to do _me_? That’s really funny, Sasaki.”

“ _Masa_.”

He’s sounding that right mixture of pissed off and unbearably turned on, which is just where Masa wants him. He yanks out his fingers fast enough that Sasaki goes cross-eyed, then grips under his thighs to force his knees toward his chest.

“Fuck, fuck,” Sasaki mutters, sounding a little delirious. He probably didn’t expect to be found out so fast but he’s living in a fantasy land if he thinks Masa’s going to take the time for foreplay. He’s not that patient and he sure as fuck knows Sasaki’s not that patient with the way he squirms and doesn’t fight how his body is bent, his hole flexing when Masa pops open his pants, pulls himself out of his briefs and presses his dick against it.

As Masa starts to push in, Sasaki’s hands snap up. They grip the back of his head and Sasaki pulls him down with alarming strength. Their mouths crash together, open and messy and with his teeth accidentally scraping Sasaki’s lip. He fights, straining against Sasaki’s hands but Sasaki clutches onto him like he’s going to suck his life force clean out through his mouth for how he’s kissing him.

Naturally, he’s never kissed Sasaki up until this point. Why _would_ he?

But as Sasaki clings to him and works his body to force Masa in deeper, he stops straining against his hands. He still doesn’t want to kiss him, not _really_ , but it doesn’t taste bad, he tastes like toothpaste and he licks again and again at Masa’s mouth with the hunger of a starving man.

It’d be easy to bite but he doesn’t because it feels good. That’s all. The combination of his dick sinking too easily into Sasaki’s body and Sasaki sloppily eating at his mouth until Masa finally gives in and opens his lips. Sasaki sucks at his tongue, licks every bit of his mouth and it _could_ be disgusting, it could, but Sasaki’s ass feels amazing and he’s not a _horrible_ kisser and he drags his nails in a pleasing, tingly way over Masa’s scalp and through his hair.

 _Fuck me,_ he thinks idly, a curse more than a request as their wet mouths break apart. Masa kisses Sasaki this time, biting hard at his lip as Sasaki growls his name and bucks his hips as much as he can to grind himself into Masa. His hole clenches when Masa bites his tongue and when he pants a laugh into his lips and he uses his body to keep Sasaki’s legs pinned between them, his hands dropping under to squeeze, massage, and batter his ass red.

Masa would never admit to coming faster and harder this time than the previous two, especially when he allows Sasaki to lock his legs around his midsection. He’d also deny being lightheaded and unable to get enough of kissing once they got started because Sasaki has some fucking poison in his mouth or _something_ , some addictive worse than alcohol or tobacco.

Sasaki is a babbling mess when Masa comes inside of him, mumbling vague “fuck yes” or “fuck me more” even when he looks wrecked. He’s so glazed that Masa plucks at his eyelid until he’s swatted away and reassured that he _didn’t_ actually make Sasaki faint.

Without the need to leave or the threat of being caught, Masa pants as he looks down at him, at Sasaki’s come-striped stomach, half-hard dick and wet hair that still manages to fall perfectly around his stupid flushed face. He quite reasonably decides to fuck him again, what can it hurt since they’re here anyway and Sasaki is footing the hotel bill? It’s not because he looks hot and wanting or like he could never say no to anything Masa asked of him or anything.

He fucks him incoherent, yanks Sasaki’s hair until he whines about Masa ripping it out completely and having to wear a wig. He laughs at him when Sasaki groans that Masa’s slapping and clawing his ass too much.

“So never sit again. Standing isn’t bad for you or anything,” Masa tells him in his ragged, breathless voice, skin on skin loudly punctuating everything they say.

Despite what he says, Sasaki reaches his orgasm with Masa’s fingers buried in the reddened flesh of his ass, kneading him sore. He keeps going even when Sasaki sprawls, weak and boneless, when he can’t do anything but make tiny sounds and Masa thinks he _actually_ knocked him out. When he’s leaning over him, his hips flexing as his dick twitches through his climax inside of him, he has to slap Sasaki’s face several times before his glazed eyes open.

He thinks _not bad_ , reminded of the beer garden, of Sasaki absent-minded and flushed and struggling to focus.

Finally, though, _finally_ , Masa manages to exhaust himself, pulling out to a sticky mess he caused and murmuring “wow” in vague, distant amazement like it’s not his doing and it’s just something he walked in on. Sasaki wears a well-fucked look well and imagine what kind of person he’d be if he got laid regularly, perhaps he wouldn’t be so desperate for the attention of anyone who gave him more than an instant of positive reinforcement.

 _Though I guess I’ve solved that,_ Masa thinks as he sprawls next to Sasaki, laughing to himself.

“Masa?” Sasaki’s voice is low and hoarse. He’s visibly only half there, peering out from in-between the hair that’s sticking to his face. With limbs like jelly, Masa reaches over, affectionately smacks him in the forehead before peeling his hair off of his skin and shoving it back out of his face. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” Masa answers with a vague smile.

When Sasaki tries to pull him in to cuddle him, Masa keeps him at a firm arm’s distance and says ‘sex friends don’t cuddle’ until Sasaki makes an exhausted pouting face.

But he lets Sasaki put his arm across his chest. But _just_ the arm.


End file.
